


transsolas' non-sexual intimacy posts

by transsolas (wolfmaws)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Multi, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4283802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfmaws/pseuds/transsolas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the non-sexual intimacy posts i made on tumblr all in one place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Krem

**Author's Note:**

> so i said i would posts these up, but i haven't been doing great mental health wise and i almost decided not to. i miss writing, though, so i decided to finally put them up. sorry it took so long. i may or may not add to these... i still have the da2 companions and i really would like to re do cassandra's and work on some other DA npcs. i doubt i can do that though. anyway, here you go.

He’s  _handsome_.

That’s all that you can think when you watch him talk. He’s handsome. Oh, and charming in that way soldiers have. He’s a little rough around the edges, teasing and crude, and it makes your heart flutter.

You find excuses to slip into the tavern. There are more important things to do, reports to read, meetings to attend, but there’s no harm in skipping one or two to talk to him, is there?

He seems surprised that you find your way to him and not the Iron Bull, but from his expression you can tell he doesn’t mind. Krem is a natural flirt. It’s difficult to concentrate when you see that smile, see the dimple carved into his cheek.

You enter a relationship easily.

Krem is eager to get his hands on you, but his touches are gentle. exploring. he asks, ensuring each area is safe for him to kiss and suck and nuzzle.

Spending time with him is difficult. He’s away on missions, as are you. When you have time to relax, he’s deep in drink with the chargers. When he has time, you’re aching and asleep… but you make time for each other.

You take walks up on the battlements, hand in hand. He tells you stories about Bull. about Dalish and Skinner and the first night the two elves kissed. Krem explains that the chargers are better than any family he could have hoped for, but he misses his father.

You kiss him softly that night and let him find a new home in your bed.

It’s not the best way to learn that your lover snores like a dragon, but you honestly couldn’t be bothered, even if you lose an hour or two of sleep.

He curls around you in the morning and refuses to let go.

_Let them wait, would you?_  he says, kissing sleepily over your shoulder. Y _ou got people to run the place. They’ll survive a morning without you._

You look back at him and ask if  _he_  would.

Krem grins.  _'Fraid not, your worship. That's the point. You're stuck here until I feel like we can part safely._  He kisses you soundly on the lips before flopping back down and snuggling closer.

_Looks like that’ll take a long time._


	2. Fenris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as i wrote these with asexual people in mind, this one does put the reader in a sexual situation - one they later explain that they did not like. just a content warning; it's nothing explicit.

The first time you visit Fenris in his former master’s mansion, the man smiles.

It isn’t what you expected at all. His laugh is warm, if rough, and he laces it in his conversation to you about his slavery and abuse. You don’t find yourself wondering how he’s survived - you know all too well how strong he is - but you do consider how lonely he must have been.

How lonely he must be.

So you take it upon yourself to be at his mansion often, at least once every few days. You bring him what little food you can spare, and he often returns the favor (as long as you swear none of it goes to Gamlen).

The build up is so gradual, so slow, you hardly notice the changes. He stands closer to you while you’re out in the market. He touches you, albeit briefly. You can catch him staring at you when you go to stare at him.

Your flirting is awkward, but sincere. Calling him handsome flusters him, but he’s unafraid and unabashed when he tells you he finds you far more appealing. It’s startling to hear the words spill from his mouth, but the face he makes indicates to you that it was more surprising for him.

It was absolutely necessary to tell fenris how cute he is when he’s embarrassed.

You spend your time with him alternating between making his mansion more livable and teaching him to read. He’s determined, despite your insistence that he needn’t prove anything to you or anyone else.

Fenris sounds out words, asks questions, and gets frustrated when the only answer you have is  _that’s how our language works,_ but he learns, and one night as he reads, he leans into you, pressing his back against your body as you sit together on the lounge chair in his room.

You feel your heart thump painfully in your chest.

This continues for weeks. every day you visit is a day he shifts closer, and eventually, he doesn’t pick up his book at all. He turns toward you and looks you in your eyes as his own open and close, thick, black eyelashes framing a mossy green.

 _I would like to kiss you_ , he says. His eyes dart to your mouth for a mere moment. _I_ _s that… something you would like as well?_

You answer with an emphatic yes.

It’s impossible to keep your breath from hitching at the way he touches you. Callused, slender fingers slide over your cheek and down to your jaw. Fenris’s eyes never leave your face, but you don’t feel awkward or frightened by the intensity, only a yearning for more. More of him. More of his touch and his closeness.

When you finally kiss, you learn his lips are softer than yours. You feel his uncertainty in his hands and in the way he moves. He’s unused to not being guided, but that’s not something you want to change.

You do your best to give him signals, to make it known when something feels good or right, and the knowledge that it is _his_  choice to touch and kiss and move forward seems to elate him.

It seemed inevitable that the two of you would sleep together.

You couldn’t find the words to explain that you never really saw the appeal of sex. You haven’t  _had_  sex before, so how do you know? How do you deny someone showing such trust in you to want to share this? Perhaps with Fenris, it would be different. Perhaps with him you could understand.

Seeing him naked is breathtaking and  _painful_. You see the twitches of his muscles from the pain, the hunch of his posture, the scars and the tattoos that run over places you never expected.

He’s scared to touch and so are you and that makes all your attempts fail. You’re anxious and uncomfortable and Fenris is trying to do something he  _doesn’t want to do_  and eventually you have to say stop because it hurts in more ways than one.

Fenris looks horrified and he’s out of your bed before you can explain, hurriedly finding his clothing, desperate to cover himself. You wrap your sheets around you and keep your eyes away until he’s clothed.

He stares at the fire. You stare at the floor.

His apology is what draws your eyes to his face again.

Fenris turns to leave and you ask him to stay the moment he starts for the door. Just for a moment, you tell him, and he relents, shuffling over to sit on the edge of the bed.

You move to sit by him, just close enough that your hips brush.

As well as you can, you explain yourself. Your feelings on sex, though you’re still unsure if you  _do_  feel things of that nature for fenris or not, you’re certain you don’t want sex the way others do. You tell him, as gently as you can, that sex isn’t something they need to do. Not now or ever.

He’s quiet for a long while.

 _It’s something I wish to reclaim_ , he says, voice tight in his throat. _S_ _exuality was stolen from me, just as my memories and my ability to touch and be touched. It was ripped from me without a second thought._  Fenris sighs, staring down at his hands. _I_ _would never hurt you_.

Carefully, you reach out, waiting for him to nod before touching his cheek, turning him to face you. You tell him that you never for a moment felt like he would. He trembles as you tell him that your love is unconditional, that you need to learn things about yourself just as much as he does.

He doesn’t stay that night, and you don’t speak the next day.

Any time after that, your conversations are professional and stilted. If anyone has noticed the change, they keep it to themselves, or perhaps ask one of you in private.

Your heart aches, but you give him space. You give him space and you hope, perhaps, he might want to help you learn about yourself as much as you want to help him.

You lose count of the days but after all your waiting, he appears again.

 _I love you_ s spill from your lips at the same time. His arms curl around you and his face presses to the curve of your neck. It’s so rare to have him be able to be touched like this, you feel a twist in your chest, something that stirs there before dropping to the depths of your stomach.

You say nothing but his name. You know there’s a conversation on the horizon, but you don’t fear it. 

Fenris deserves his comfort, and you deserve yours.

And you know you’ll find that together.


	3. Leliana

Lying is as easy as breathing to her.

She was a bard once. Her smiles were false and her love was nothing more than a game she played to get closer to marks. You listen to her talk of her life in Orlais and you wonder how anyone could live like that.

Soon enough it becomes clear that she was unsure as well.

Leliana speaks to you of a former lover. She speaks of lies and betrayals and of pain. She speaks of the chantry and of peace, but never quite of happiness.

You start to notice that none of her smiles quite reach her eyes.

She compliments you constantly and it takes hearing all this for you to start returning it. For her flirty nature and charm not to throw you for a loop for once.

Leliana starts to glow when you tell her she’s beautiful.

Your nights with her when you’re on watch are your favorite. She talks so much her voice goes raw, but you love to listen, and one night when she begins to drift off, you find yourself leaning over and kissing her cheek.

These kisses grow from cheeks to jaws to necks to lips to hands to ears - anything either of you could touch. She giggles in delight and you smile to see her so happy.

You hold hands as often as possible when you’re trekking through Thedas.

She  _demands_  that you cuddle by the fire when camp is set, enjoying you laying between her legs with your back to her chest. Leliana rubs over your scalp, your neck, and your shoulders, humming to you to encourage your heavy eyes to shut.

You wake to kisses on your ear and a whisper of  _come to bed_.

You don’t feel frightened by these words, though. Every time you’ve found yourself in her bedroll, she has put no pressure on you. You kiss and you hold each other and you speak of far off places, but never of sex.

It’s unclear to you why this is the case, but you’re grateful.

One night, as you lay next to her, feeling her fingers trace over your face, she speaks.

 _I feel so selfish to think I could stay like this forever_. She pauses, snuggling closer to you. _T_ _here’s so much pain in the world, especially now, but all I can think is that I've never been happier. All because of you_.

You smile, tucking some hair behind her ear, and remind her that she’s very much a part of that happiness.

Her eyes glass over, and before you can apologize, she presses her face to your chest.

All you can make out is a muffled  _thank you_ , but that’s really all you could ever need.


	4. Vivienne

You are hers in an instant.

It takes only a conversation for you to feel your heart flutter and your insides melt. She is gorgeous and intelligent and powerful and you forget words in her presence. You stammer and stutter and she smiles - a warm thing that leaves you weak  - and tells you she knows several sign languages if that would be easier for you.

You’re very aware that it wouldn’t be.

Every word that passes her lips makes you fall more and more in love. She’s a font of knowledge, both social and academic. Vivienne astounds you with her magic, with her mind, and with those incredible eyes.

Getting closer to her is simple, as it is with anyone else. You speak to her, when your mind allows you to do so. Bit by bit you become more confident under her gaze, until at last you admit your feelings in a rush. There’s too many compliments and not enough air in your lungs to get them all out.

She holds your chin between her finger and thumb, shakes her head, and kisses you.

Her kisses send your heart thrumming; there’s an ache in your chest you can’t shake. In fact, all you can do is reach out, is brush your hands over her waist and delight in the way she steps closer, heels clicking on the stone under her feet.

You find yourself on her couch more often than not, with her on top of you, running her hands over your body. A massage, she tells you. with her hands covered in Orlesian oils and warmed by her own magic.

You’re eager to return the favor.

It’s impossible to keep from commenting on her beauty, on her strength. You write her letters when you’ve the time to spare, simple notes that you hope make her smile.

People tell you that she only has her own survival in mind - you reply with a pointed  _so does everyone else_.

You don’t always sleep together, but when you do it feels incredible. She’s tall and long-limbed and her embrace makes you feel incredibly safe.

She asks you one night, if the two of you were ever to have sex, and you tell her that such acts make you uncomfortable. That you’ve tried before, and it only made you sick afterwards.

Vivienne kisses you on your temple, and then your lips.

_That’s all that needs to be said, darling_ , she murmurs through another kiss. _O_ _ur nights will be filled with passion of another form, and it will be no less meaningful_.

You go to apologize, to explain that you wouldn’t be averse to trying with her, but she shakes her head and tells you to hush and you do.

The night is spent kissing. kissing and touching and murmuring sweet things to each other.

You find the ticklish spot just above her hip.

She laughs, and the breach no longer seems like something to be feared.


	5. Alistair

It’s not all that surprising that you fell in love with him.

You’ve been through so much together, and perhaps it was inevitable. You met him after the life you were accustomed to was ripped away, and he was the first thing that really managed to make you smile.

The awkwardness in his movements makes everything feel more natural. You appreciate the way he fumbles and stammers. It makes you realize how much he cares - your happiness has become his goal.

You tell him it’s one he’s very good at achieving.

The biggest downside, however, is his opinion on sex. To him, it is the culmination of a relationship. It was what he was taught that you do with someone you love, wholly and completely - would he think your relationship was incomplete without it?

You spend so much time with him that you can scarcely believe anything like that could bring you closer. Your favorite moments are when the two of you have time alone.

Nothing is better than when you have the opportunity to sit between his legs. To rest your back against his warm chest. You listen to him tell you stories about constellations. Some of them are true, you wager - others are made up on the fly.

You like the latter more.

You love helping him with his armor, especially. Such a thing seems silly to be intimate - this sort of thing is done daily by squires and the like - but it  _is_  to you. He trusts you to put on every piece and tighten every strap.

He trusts you to keep him alive. To keep him moving. To keep him smiling.

When he finally asks you to lay with him, you find yourself at a loss. He’s clearly thought of this at length. He wants to please you. Love you. To him, this is everything that true love is supposed to be and having sex solidifies that.

But you look at him and you feel no desire to do anything but love him.

And that is enough.

You take him to your tent and explain. It takes multiple pauses to reassure him. He’s frightened that he came on too strong, or that he’s not attractive or suave or any number of things. You tell him this has nothing to do with that.

Perhaps it was your confidence in your feelings, or perhaps he really was reassured by your words, but whatever the reason, he was smiling by the end of your speech.

He reaches out and touches your cheek, thumbing over the skin made warm from anxiety.

 _I love you_ , he says. he moves closer and closer until he’s hugging you, pressing you as close as he can in the cramped quarters of your tent. _W_ _hatever- whatever makes you happiest. Whatever makes you comfortable with me - that’s what i want. If i ever do anything that jeopardizes that, for the love of Andraste, tell me!_

You smile against his neck and snuggle closer.

Neither of you need anything more than this.


	6. Morrigan

How you ever thought she was cold is beyond you.

Perhaps you had merit for it at first. It’s difficult to remember a time where she might’ve sneered more than she smiled. And even that had it’s allure. You were pushed away by her need to be alone at times or her harsh words.

You realized easily that she required understanding. Not someone making demands, or even someone treating her gently.

Morrigan needed a friend, and you were happy to be that, even if your heart ached for more.

You spoke to her of the wilds, of animals, and of magic, not noticing the way you leaned closer. How her words imprinted on your mind, how the gold of her eyes seemed to be the only color in the world when you looked into them.

For the life of you, you couldn’t recall who kissed first or if it had been a joint effort - honestly, you didn’t care. All that mattered was her lips and the fact that you were kissing them and might be able to do so again.

Morrigan was not timid in her desire for attention, nor were you hesitant about giving it. You worship her at any given opportunity, coasting your hands over her bare back, sliding your fingers through her long, black hair.

As intimate as that was, it was nothing compared to the words you shared. Namely, telling her she was beautiful. It seems like such a simple thing, even shallow, but you never mean it that way. It’s never just been about her looks. She has a beautiful soul. A beautiful mind. A beautiful heart. She glows with curiosity and strength and cunning.

You spend the time meant for sleep to tell her all these things. She goes through phases of telling you not to (which you respect) to just laying beside you, listening with a soft smile on her face.

Sex is only brought up once, and you both dance around the subject. You try, because sex is supposed to be natural and wonderful and a dozen other things, and fail miserably. Not for lack of trying or lack of skill, it just simply holds no appeal.

Before Morrigan can say a word, you tell her it doesn’t matter, and her relief is as palpable as yours.

After Morrigan leaves you, your intimacy is still there. You refuse to let it go entirely, though you understand that she must walk her own path. The ring on your finger keeps you connected. You feel her loneliness, her guilt, her anger - all things you have in your heart as well.

But at night, you keep that hand close to your lips, so you can murmur to her the things you did before. So you can speak of her best and worst qualities and how you love them all.

You know she doesn’t hear anything you say.

But you know you’ll never stop trying.


	7. Varric

You’re certain he just doesn’t see you  _that_  way.

He flirts with you the way he flirts with everyone. It’s casual and non-committal and you stew in it for hours after it happens, wishing what he said meant more to him than it actually did.

There was someone else, you figured. Or perhaps he didn’t feel that way about anyone?

Either way, you were content with loving him from afar.

Unfortunately, he  _wasn’t_  content with allowing that.

It’s not difficult for a person who makes a living off observing people to see a crush, and he calls you out on it. It’s kind and it’s teasing and he doesn’t seem disgusted, so you admit your defeat.

He takes your hand and kisses it.

Nothing more needs to be said on his end, apparently. You’re left in a daze and he seems perfectly happy to just sit and smirk as if he  _won_  something. You’re not entirely sure he didn’t, but that doesn’t give him a right to be smug about it.

You learn later it was just a ploy to get you to follow him. To have you sit with him by the fireplace. You hold hands between the arms of your separate chairs, and he spins tales for you, and sometimes you respond in kind. You talk of home and of food, of friends and rivals, and he smiles at you like you’re his world.

Varric likes to hold you by your waist, you find, and it’s a comforting feeling. his hands run the length of your sides, curling into the fabric at your hips. He pulls you close and presses his face into whatever is nearest.

You slide your fingers into his hair and learn he is very weak to scalp massages.

To your surprise, the subject of sex never comes up, even when you fall asleep together. He never attempts to slide his hands under your clothes. Never murmurs crude things in your ear.

One night you ask him why, and he explains he just knew. It was in how you reacted to bull’s comments, how you pulled away if his hands slipped a little too far.

He tells you what you have together is all he needs. Sex just gets the sheets messy.

_You’re the one thing that’s really been working out right for me_ , he tells you, thumbing over your cheek. _W_ _hatever you need, i’ll give you, as long as you keep smiling. Even if it’s just on special occasions_.


	8. Blackwall

Neither of you expected to fall quite so hard.

It wasn’t simple for either of you to admit. He has loved and lost before, as have you. There’s so much to do, so much to think of - who has time for something as frivolous as romance?

So you don’t flirt with him and he doesn’t flirt with you, but the attraction is there. Your eyes meet and you long to be closer to him. To feel his hands and to listen to his voice murmuring against your ear.

He smiles and the weight you bear seems lighter. He laughs and you think, perhaps, it’s possible to make it through this alive.

He touches you and everything is right.

Despite it all, you’re surprised it takes as long as it does for the two of you to kiss.

Blackwall’s kiss is warm and envelopes your mouth; his beard tickles pleasantly and that tingly feeling seems to spread all the way out to your extremities.

His intimacy is forceful. He holds you like he fears it will be the last time, and kisses you similarly every chance he has. It’s not what you expected, but you love it. You respond in kind, fingers in his hair, holding him as close as you can.

It’s after one of these kisses that he invites you to his bed. Your heart races, but not for the reasons expected of you. He wants to lie with you and make love to you but you only want the former.

Luckily, you trust him explicitly. When you tell him what you want, you’re unsurprised that he smiles.

You walk to his room, hand in hand.

Nights are the only time you really have for each other, but you can’t find a reason to complain. Blackwall cradles you with his large, callused hands, touching over your back and tracing over the lines of your face.

He does that often, you find. His fingers find spaces in your clothing to touch skin, settling for your neck if you’re in armor. When he speaks, his hand rests on your arm. When you stop to check your map, he’s touching your back.

being with each other may be the last good thing the two of you ever have, but you refuse to let that stain your relationship. you do not dwell, nor does he.

All he wants is to cherish the time he has with you. To make you feel like, at least for a few hours, you are royalty, even divine.

You are his heart, you realize. You beat steadily for him and he is able to breathe.

And so are you.


	9. Zevran

He makes you nervous.

It isn’t the dagger he once held to your back or his affiliation with the Crows… oddly enough, it was easy to believe his story. He was too nonchalant about it for it to be anything but the truth. You could feel it is his words - he felt expendable.

What truly got to you was how sexual he was. He flirted with ease, and this is something you revel in. How he leans close and touches your jaw, letting his thumb slide down your throat. It’s enough to make you shiver. You would be his in an instant if you thought you could give him what he wanted.

He offers you a massage one night and to your surprise, you agree. Your entire body is thrumming at the thought of his hands on you - it’s something you crave, but what if he wants more?

Zevran is unsurprisingly skillful at this. You feel the aches of your bones and your muscles slowly melting away as he rubs in firm, practiced circled. You expect him to find an excuse to get under your shirt, but he doesn’t. When he moves to your legs, he makes no comment, he simply keeps rubbing until he’s digging his thumbs into your feet.

He does this night after night and asks for nothing in return. You find yourself longing for him to stay, to touch you more - but you have to set boundaries, you feel. He has to know what you want.

It’s been two weeks of this and you finally grab him by his shirt to make him stay. It comes rushing out. You tell him his sexuality is uncomfortable to you. That you want to love him - that you  _do_  love him - but there are things you cannot do and don’t  _want_  to do and as your breath threatens to run out, as your words strain, you feel a brush of someone’s warm lips on your cheek.

He has met people like you, he tells you. How you feel is how you feel. He agrees to keep his innuendos packed away. Tells you that he wants you to feel safe with him.

His voice is rough when he speaks. Your eyes prickle with tears.

Zevran still comes to you each night. He still massages you. It’s slower now. There are times you wear no clothes, times he wears none - sometimes it’s both or neither of you. It takes over an hour and you feel as if he knows every inch of your body.

You no longer need to ask him to stay. He does so automatically, curled up at your side. He clings to you, as if he fears you might slip away during the night.

The way he reaches for you as your walk across ferelden makes you feel precious and necessary. He holds your hand without shame while telling you brilliant stories of his not-so-brilliant escapades.

He comes with you during your watch - it becomes irrelevant to even try to tell him to sleep. He’s too interested in you. In speaking to you. In touching you. In stealing kisses and then tutting you for letting your defenses down.

Zevran smiles more than you ever thought possible, and one night he comments on it. One night he speaks with his voice so soft you could scarcely hear him.

_I had thought happiness was something not meant for me._

He pauses to turn to you. You can see his amber eyes glisten in the moonlight, and your heart leaps in your throat.

_I do hope you prove me wrong for a very long time._


	10. Dorian

Being wanted by Dorian makes you wonder how the man survived in Tevinter so long.

He seems parched for attention, desperate and needy every time his hands travel over your body. It’s intense -  _magical_ , even, though you keep that to yourself; you wager Dorian would laugh at you too much if you admitted it.

Dorian is a man who spent a good deal of his life being told to keep his sexuality hidden. He was told to have relations with slaves rather than fall in love. To get out his  _urges_.

That’s not the case anymore - he is liberated and free to touch you. To tell you how much he craves you, and he does so often.

It doesn’t take long for him to tug you into bed, to grip at your clothes and kiss at your neck - he wants you so badly and all you can feel  _dread_  in the pit of your stomach. You don’t want to deny him this, when he’s been denied for so long, but you, too, have lied to stay safe. You don’t feel that’s necessary here.

You tell him the truth.

You tell him that sex has always felt wrong and you apologize. You don’t know why, exactly; this is who you are. But you fear his reaction, fear his leaving. You try to stammer explanations, insist that maybe you’re just stressed - you’re lying again.

He takes your hands.

The next kiss has no pressure to it. It’s soft, and it’s tender, and it makes you melt. Breathing is easier against his cheek, and you can feel him smile.

After that night, he makes no attempt for sex, and seems no less for it. His days are spent researching, but he always has time to visit you. He’ll drape himself on your lap and demand attention by way of kisses. He touches over your chest and shoulders and neck and tells you that you’re  _impossibly_  handsome - he must know what demon you consorted with.

He loves to share meals with you, to sit close and feed you and to be fed. The mage kisses and bites at your fingertips, reveling in your laughter.

Moreso, he loves to cradle your hand - the one pulsing and glowing, the one that causes you pain and anxiety. Dorian holds it carefully, staring down at it with his forehead against your shoulder.

_It won’t defeat you_ , he says. _N_ _othing possibly could_.

The moment the words are out of his mouth, that hand is on his cheek, and he looks up at you. His eyes are wet, as are yours.

Dorian lifts his head until your foreheads touch; he lets out a shaky breath against your mouth.

_I won’t lose you. H_ is voice is but a rasp now, and you feel your throat burning with emotion. _I_ _will fight for you until the bitter end, amatus. Whatever that is._


	11. Solas

It doesn’t take long for you to find that his calm demeanor masks intense passion. The way he speaks draws you to him - he is so certain. Certain about life, about his purpose, about morality, about  _mortality_.

It’s easy envy him.

You crave his confidence, especially about the rift and about your capabilities to close it. He spends his time reassuring you with careful touches and soft-spoken words; you feel cared for, even when he teases softly that you worry too much.

Solas often comes to you in your dreams. You find it amusing - mention that having someone like him in your mind so often must mean something. It was just a joke, a glib remark to avoid some question solas asked you about the rift, about how you felt.

You didn’t expect him to smile so sweetly.

You didn’t expect your relationship to suddenly  _happen_. Solas is certain, you remember, and that certainty includes his feelings for you.

He comes to you nightly, sometimes in the fade, others to your bedroom, but either way it is the same. He kisses you. It seems to be his favorite thing to do, in fact, and with his lips the way they are, you’re not surprised.

Solas treats your mouth to sweet suckles and small bites and tastes your tongue eagerly, but never presses you beyond that. You’re unsure if he knows your preferences, or if he himself feels no such desires, but you’re grateful nonetheless.

your days are wrapped up in him as well as your duties. he craves sharing space with you, and finds his way to your office often, spending his time crushing herbs and taking notes from his dreams.

He’s eager to convince you to nap, even if only for a short while, and it’s not just to slip into the fade. He tells you his arms belong around you. That as silly as it is, he feels safer with you in his arms, just as he feels you are protected.

One night, he takes your hand, the one that glows and aches more and more with each rift you close. He does not fear contact with it, and laces your fingers together.

His eyes say much in that moment, but all you can focus on is the whisper that passes his lips.

_You are a beacon_ , he tells you. _Y_ _ou are my warmth and my guidance. I will always find my way to your side._

Solas is certain, you remember.

And so are you.


	12. Josephine

You fall for her in mere moments.

She greets you with a warm voice and sparkling eyes and you wonder how people around her manage to focus on anything at all. She glitters and glistens and shines and you’re enraptured by every movement.

Much to your surprise, she admits the same.

She is taken by you, a person who has shouldered so much and carries such guilt. She cares for you. for your well being. It starts simply enough. She gives you gifts, bought of her own coin.

There is incense from Rivain to calm you, tea from Anitva, cheese from Orlais, cream from the Anderfels - she spoils you. She aches to see you smile and to smile  _hurts_  at times but it’s so worth it to see her light up.

As you grow closer, as romance blooms, her hands begin to wander. She is practiced and patient and you want to lay with her, but you don’t want where her hands go. You shy away, ask her to stop.

She does so immediately.

Instead, her lips find your fingers.

She kisses calluses, scars, and swollen knuckles. She murmurs apologies, insisting she should have asked instead of assuming. Her lips move to your palm and then to your wrist and your vision wavers because of the tears in your eyes.

Josephine is in love with you and you can feel it in each breath she takes against your skin. Her apologies are rough and genuine and you don’t feel wronged or pressured, just cared for.

She spends her days penning you notes when she has time. Your intimate moments are sealed with ink. She tells you how deeply she loves you. How your eyes give her hope and your smile is a treasure. How every night in your arms makes her long for the upcoming sleep.

She finds ways to wear little things of yours - a ring or a necklace, sometimes a shirt - she says it’s her way of keeping you by her side when you spend your days fighting somewhere she cannot follow.

Most of all, while you’re away, she sleeps in your bed. The bed you share. She keeps it warm, in hopes you’ll ride in late at night and curl around her.

In hopes you will return to her whole and happy, murmuring promises of forever.


	13. Cullen

He’s nervous and soft spoken when you have a private moment with him. There’s less confidence in his voice and more fear. He shies from your touch and from your gaze and you wonder what’s made him so cautious when it’s so obvious you have a connection.

You continue to get close to him regardless, and your rare moments of solitude turn to intimacy. His hand glides over yours, tentative and unsure. You reassure him with a smile.

His cheeks turn a lovely rose color.

Weeks progress to months and you grow closer. You’ve felt his hands on your waist and smelled the armor polish lingering to his clothes. You know how his hair feels beneath your hands and how soft his eyes can be.

He his gentle, he is tender, and he is always asking permission.

You wonder and wonder until one night you touch too far down his hip and he recoils. He panics and gasps, stepping away. He tells you he can’t. He apologizes.

You end up kneeling on the floor with him, breathing with him, helping him through his panic.

He tells you of the desire demon. Of the blood of his comrades. Of being picked apart from the inside out. He tells you of a mage he loved, that once their smile had been everything to him, and that a demon took that away.

He tells you he’s never had sex before, and that after what the desire demon put him through, he never wishes to be touched like that.

You reach out and hold his hand and tell him that sex is something you were never that interested in, either. That even if you were, you would respect him.

He presses his face to your shoulder and cries.

The truth seems to lighten him. He reaches for you more often, now, cupping your face and presses your noses together. Kissing is out of the question for now, but nuzzling seems to be his favorite thing.

The pinnacle of your intimacy happens one night after a short game of chess. You have won and he asks if you might enjoy a prize. When you agree, he smiles, motioning toward the ladder leading up to his bed.

Intrigued, you follow him up, and he invites you to stay the night, wringing his hands and looking much like a teenager in the soft light.

You stay, of course. You get no sleep, nor does he.

His eyes are too intriguing.

His touch is too soft.

He is too happy for you to look away.


	14. Sera

She’s wild and you would never want to change that. You love the way she bounds to your side, how she curls her arm around yours and nuzzles against your ear, no matter how difficult it can be to get to.

It’s in her nature to make sexual jokes, to tease and flirt and laugh at reactions, but not with you. She notices your discomfort almost immediately and takes to teasing you about other things - about how you dress or the way you were kissing up to Vivienne earlier.

When you finally tell her the truth - that sex doesn’t interest you - she’s surprised. It’s not something she’s heard of before. She bites on her lower lip, keeping questions at bay, before shaking her head, nose crinkling in a big grin.

She understands.

She finds ways to be close to you.

Her favorite is your hair - no matter how much or how little you have of it on any given day, She likes to brush it. To pin it. She hums songs she knows from her youth as she toys with it - you feel like royalty even with your hair tangled in her fingers.

Sera sits as close to you as possible, sometimes even on your lap. She tells you hearing your breath at her ear makes her happy - even if your breath doesn’t smell great. She aches to be close to you, to love you in all the ways that make you feel special and comfortable.

Her favorite thing, you find out, is when you’re alone.

When no one can see how she looks at you, eyes soft and wet with wonder and adoration.

When no one can hear her voice crack when she tells you she loves you.

 


	15. Iron Bull

It takes time for you to see him this way. He’s a man who seeks excess whether he goes, eager to experience life. He’s powerful and sexual and loud and you love him.

But you have no interest in sex, and when you tell him this, you expect him to leave - others certainly have.

However, he does not. He smiles at you and cups your cheek, thumbing over your cheekbones. He tells you he’ll just fight a little harder to get out the energy.

Unexpectedly, he keeps himself close. It’s rare not to have him on the outskirts of your personal space. There are times he touches over your wrist with his free hand, and even curls his fingers into yours.

He still comes to your bed each night and holds you close… it’s comforting when you have nightmares or insomnia, but it seems to comfort him even more.

His hands find your body easily and eagerly, not to grope, but to touch. To feel over a brow and brush over the curve of your neck. Geeling you becomes one of the most important things in his life, you can sense it every time your skin meets.

Whatever roughness you expected is nowhere to be found. He cherishes you, respects your boundaries, and finds himself desperate to be near you and to make your days less dreary - even if that sometimes gets him into trouble.


End file.
